Chapter 331

Chapter 331: .

The paper was crumpled, and many parts had been corrupted by the gray-black “mud”. The writing on it was blurred and broken. But after Morris carefully worked on it, many sentences still recovered to a state that could barely be read.

“Brown Scott” had recorded the strange changes that happened to him in the last clear stage of his mind:

“…Around four in the morning, twelve hours after locking the door. The growing tinnitus and bouts of vertigo already affected my movements badly. I could only write something when my condition was slightly better. There seemed to be bleeding under the skin. I saw bruises appear for no reason…

“Half past six. My internal organs seemed to roll, as if the structures inside my body had lost all order and each had its own will, moving around on its own. I did not feel pain. Even the dizziness eased a lot… Fear began to fade. Clearer and clearer memories appeared in my mind…

“Around seven. I clearly remembered the details of my death and became more and more sure that the real me had long since died. My left leg broke for no reason – or perhaps a section of bone in the middle suddenly dissolved and vanished.

“Eight fifteen. The left leg began to dissolve. First the skin split open on its own. Then the tissue inside flowed out like some gray-black liquid. Those liquid parts that left the body seemed to have a life of their own, crawling on the floor and even climbing up the walls… For a time I worried whether the boards I nailed over the window could block these strange and terrible substances. But later I found that once they left the body, they quickly lost their activity. Even while they still had activity, they seemed to consciously avoid sunlight… This may be very important information, so I record it here…

“…The heart stopped beating, yet consciousness still continued. I could feel that this body no longer worked by the normal physiological rules of humans at all. I tried to cut a wound. There was no blood in it, only gray-black viscous matter slowly flowing out… What material is this body made from now?

“The entire lower body began to dissolve. It took some effort to fix myself in one place and keep writing these words. I now cannot feel any pain. There is no breath, and the heartbeat had long since stopped. Now and then I can hear a buzzing noise, as if the substance that makes up myself is resonating… More and more of the viscous matter left the body, making a complete mess of the room…

“…I hope Galina will not be frightened when she cleans the room… Even though, as I write this name, I can hardly recall Galina’s face in my mind.

“Half past ten. The thing I feared most began to happen. My vision quickly weakened. The world grew darker and darker. I have to feel along the edge of the paper and try to keep the writing below as clear as possible…

“Cannot tell the time now. It is probably between eleven and twelve. I heard a sharp, strange sound. It lasted about five minutes. After that, all the discomfort began to go away, and my sense of the remaining parts of the body also quickly weakened. I can faintly feel everything below the chest sinking down…

“Maybe another hour passed,”

The writing stopped here.

No one knew if the recorder’s consciousness had finally reached its end, or if, after losing most of his senses, he could no longer place words on the paper. In the end this dead man left only a sudden full stop to the mortal world.

Morris stayed silent for a long time. After who knew how long, he finally spoke in a low, almost self-talking voice: “Ah, it really is his handwriting.”

“Do you need some time alone?” Duncan gave the old mister a calm look. “I can wait outside.”

“No need. I already mourned him once,” Morris shook his head slightly. “I just did not expect to see his academic record again six years later. All this material is useful, right?”

Duncan did not answer at once. He leaned closer to the hardened, frozen “mud” and studied its edges with a thoughtful look. Then he picked up the record Brown Scott had left and carefully examined the places along the edge where the paper had been fully soaked by the mud.

The edges were blurred and uneven. The boundary between paper and mud seemed to have vanished, even showing signs of partial fusion.

“Have you found something?” Morris noticed what Duncan was doing.

“…elements,” Duncan raised his head. “The Church in Frostholm is studying this substance. They think this sticky stuff left after a Deep Sea replicant collapses is in nature very close to the ‘elements’ spoken of by the Annihilators.”

Morris was stunned for a moment, but by now he was somewhat used to the captain always having some new clue from who knew where. So he did not bother to ask where this information came from. After a short thought he said: “I know this term ‘elements’. If you want to study the history of cultists, you can never avoid their mystical talk.”

He paused, as if sorting through the knowledge in his mind, then went on: “Just as the Suntists firmly believe that the true ancient Sun will save the world sooner or later, the Annihilators have a similar ‘salvation prophecy’. They preach that on some day in the future, the Abyssal Lord will awaken from sleep and in rage destroy this mortal world that the gods have twisted and deceived. The Abyssal Deep Sea that stands for the ‘true present world’, will then rise from the depths of the world and once again become a paradise where mortals can live. Before that day comes, ‘elements’ will first gush out in great quantity. elements is the keystone of the world, the blueprint of all things. It will cover everything and restore the world to its true form…”

Listening to the old scholar, Duncan stayed silent for a few seconds, then raised his head: “Gush out in great quantity… from the Deep Sea?”

Morris did not answer for a moment.

“I am more and more interested in those Annihilators now. But rather than their so-called ‘salvation prophecy’, I am more curious how they have built ‘contact’ with the place a thousand meters under Frostholm at this moment,” Duncan said, shaking his head. “replicas come from the Deep Sea. The Obsidian and that submersible off Dagger Island were both like this. But a group of mystical Annihilators… how do you think they are touching a power a thousand meters under the water?”

“…Even for a powerful city-state, building a submersible that can travel to a thousand meters in the Deep Sea is not a simple matter. At the very least, it is not something a band of cultists could master,” Morris said in thought. “But they can use some indirect ritual to guide the Deep Sea’s power mentally, or to contact the Deep Sea’s… ‘mighty beings’.”

“So Frostholm must have a larger Cult base, a hidden place where they can hold large rituals,” Duncan said slowly. “It would be enough for them to keep stirring the power in the Deep Sea, creating replicants in the city-state and even invading Dagger Island.”

As he spoke, he raised his head and looked around the room. The only window was nailed shut with boards, and the ceiling, walls, and floor were all covered with dried mud that had lost its life. Every mark here seemed to tell, without words, of a shocking struggle and a decision to die.

And in his perception, the Vanished was already under sail, heading toward Dagger Island and Frostholm’s main island.

“Maybe in the end we still have to give the cultists here a little ‘Vanished shock’.” He said this softly. He rubbed his fingers together, and a small tuft of ghostly green flame fell from his fingertips, dropped to the floor without a sound, and quickly melted into the air and disappeared.

Of course Morris saw this, but he said nothing. He only gave the table beside him one last look.

That was where Brown Scott had last “worked”. Perhaps he had only been a short-lived replicant, but when that ever-collapsing body bent over the desk and wrote furiously, it still held a noble soul.

“…How do we deal with things here?” The old scholar raised his head and looked at the captain. “The marks in the room, the data Brown left, and… Galina downstairs.”

“We have already gained enough clues. Leave the rest to the people of Frostholm,” Duncan said calmly. “Keep the room as it is. Leave that letter in a visible place on the table, then prepare a denunciation letter. As for Galina…”

Duncan paused.

“The cognitive interference attacking Galina has clearly not ended. Even after the replicant in this building vanished, she has shown no sign of waking up. She even still believes her teacher is resting in the room. That means the ‘source’ that causes the interference is not her teacher, but something still active, hiding deep in the city-state. If we do not destroy that source, she will never truly recover.”

As he said this, he frowned slightly, as if he had thought of more.

“And we also do not know how many ‘Brown Scotts’ and how many ‘Galinas’ are still in this city-state.”

Morris’s expression froze. “You mean…”

“Rumors of the dead returning spread through the city, yet at the same time completely opposite news reached Tyrian,” Duncan glanced at Morris. “This city-state has probably been riddled through by replicants and cognitive interference like a sieve.”